


high school unusual

by ethandiesofdysentery



Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, Unus Annus - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, First Kiss, M/M, Meta, Metafiction, Theatre Kids, can't tag too much yet bc spoilers, cant believe i just tagged this norbert moses, direct opposite of a slow burn get ready, high school au but every time something cliche happens it gets more fucked up, high school romance, jock!mark, just read it trust us! eyes emoji, mild homophobia, new kid!ethan, not your typical HS au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23671021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethandiesofdysentery/pseuds/ethandiesofdysentery
Summary: Ethan stumbles up to the front door of the school, stopping on a dime before he slams face first into them. He’s found himself in a stream of students that most certainly all know this place better than him, and why wouldn’t they? Ethan’s got some serious new-kid-itis going on here. He shakes his head and pushes through the doors. It’s okay. Being new at a public school has to be better than being old at a private school. It’s a clean slate, where no one knows anything about him or that one embarrassing thing that happened in freshman year. You know the one.It’s gonna beawesome.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor, Mika Midgett/Amy Nelson (mentioned)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 77





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> hi there! we're a couple who've been watching too much unus annus lately. we also have a long history of writing (albeit for a different fandom), so we decided to do what we do best and make people gay. 
> 
> it is NOT your usual high school AU. you'll see what we mean. give it a shot 👀 we'll update as often as we can!
> 
> also we respect mark and ethan as people, and we also respect their girlfriends. we mean no harm this is all SUPER HELLA FAKE. okay dope ENJOY!
> 
> -k+w

The sun is rising. The birds are chirping. Warm morning light streams through the blinds. 

And Ethan’s alarm clock won’t shut the fuck up.

He rolls over and tries to hit the snooze button, but his arm hits the wrong nightstand and knocks a glass of water to the floor instead. He rolls over twice to get to the other side of his unnecessarily large bed and tries again, managing to hit the button with the tips of his fingers, which is apparently enough to make the screaming clock stop. _Thank fucking god_.

Ethan forces himself to open his eyes, blinking against the light of day, and stares at his clock. It informs him it is seven in the morning. Ethan groans, rolling onto his back. Why the hell is his alarm set for seven on a Sunday? Unless...

  
“ _Holy shit!_ ” Ethan blurts out, sitting bolt upright. Suddenly, he’s completely awake. “It is _not_ Sunday!” How could he have forgotten? Today is Monday, and it’s his first day at his new school.

  
Ethan is still a little pissed about his parents’ decision to move across town - and, since it’s LA, across town is, like, two hours away - in the middle of his junior year, taking him away from all his old friends and traditions and you-get-the-ideas. Ethan had been going to his suburb’s local school, which happened to be a private school that he got into on a scholarship - he’s never been quite sure what the scholarship was for, but apparently it was worth a lot - but in the Small Town That’s Technically Still LA he’s living in now, the local school is a huge public school that looks like it’s been ripped straight out of a D-COM. Ethan hasn’t been to a school like that in two-and-a-half years, but he’s so fucking excited. Private school was not the kind of place he wanted to be. A new school is a new start - even if he’s still simultaneously mad at his parents for moving. (For work, they said. His dad got a new job and some law firm. Ethan assumes he’s a lawyer, then, but he’s never really talked about work.)

  
And now he’s going to be late.

  
He either has fifteen or ten or twenty minutes to get to school - does it matter which one? He must have slept through his first alarm. That’s _just_ his luck.

  
It feels like no time at all before he’s running out the door, in the midst of shrugging on a backpack, holding a half eaten muffin, and breathing heavily. He’s not exactly an early morning runner. Come to think of it, he’s not exactly an early morning _anything_.

  
Ethan stumbles up to the front door of the school, stopping on a dime before he slams face first into them. He’s found himself in a stream of students that most certainly all know this place better than him, and why wouldn’t they? Ethan’s got some serious _new-kid-itis_ going on here. He shakes his head and pushes through the doors. It’s okay. Being new at a public school has to be better than being old at a private school. It’s a clean slate, where no one knows anything about him or that one embarrassing thing that happened in freshman year. You know the one.

  
It’s gonna be _awesome._

—

Spoiler alert: it is _not_ awesome.

  
Ethan’s first period class - biology, he thinks - is full of new people - well, no shit - ninety percent of whom seem to be the _exact_ kind of people he was hoping to get away from here. It turns out he’s in some kind of AP Bio class, except no one seems to be calling it “AP Bio”. He just gets the idea from the amount of stereotypical nerds in the class.

  
Second period isn’t any better, and neither is third. By lunch, Ethan has officially lost all hope. He’d rather go back to Saint Whatever’s across town than deal with three more periods of this, not to mention the rest of the school year.

  
It’s even _worse_ that someone read his file already, and as soon as he tries to sit down in the lunchroom, a teacher/principal/security guard/lunch monitor or something to that effect tells him he needs to sit at the empty table in the corner that’s _allergy-friendly_ , which apparently means it’s absolute-nothing-else-friendly. It’s in a dirty corner, far away from anyone else, and directly under an air vent just for good measure. Apparently Ethan is somehow the only person in this school with any kind of allergies whatsoever, which has officially landed him in permanent social isolation. That’s just _so_ fucking convenient.  
  
He’s officially done being hopeful. He’s going back to his old school even if he needs to hitchhike his way there.

  
His self-pity is interrupted by a voice from elsewhere in the cafeteria - it’s loud and maybe a little familiar, but Ethan’s never met any of these people before, so he doubts that’s actually true.

  
“Hey, who’s that?” the voice says, and Ethan looks up to find a tall guy with messy dark hair looking pointedly across the room at him. He’s surrounded by guys in jerseys - Ethan can’t tell if they’re for football or basketball or maybe even hockey, but they’re definitely jerseys. _Great_ , he thinks, _I’ve caught the attention of the jocks_.

  
Saint Whatever’s didn’t have jocks. They didn’t have _sports_. Ethan got his exercise in by doing gymnastics outside of school, which he gets the feeling these guys would not be impressed by.  
  
The dude to the right of the guy that had spoken, who looks like any nondescript jock would, says, “Oh, that’s the _new kid_. ” He says it somehow louder than the rest of the sentence, without raising his voice. Ethan hears a few quiet gasps around the cafeteria, but he can’t see who they’re coming from.

  
“Why’s he sitting over there?” Tall, Dark, and Handsome asks. (It’s basically good enough to be his name, Ethan figures, since it’s all true.)  
  
Another nondescript jock sneers. “You don’t want to talk to _him_.”

“Why?”  
  
The jock posse looks aghast, as if no one would dare ask that, even though Ethan is pretty sure Tall, Dark, and Handsome is their leader.

  
“ _Mark_ ,” another miscellaneous jock says, giving Ethan a name to the face, even though he thinks Tall, Dark, and Handsome sufficed, “he has a _peanut allergy._ ”  
  
Tall, Mark, and Handsome - _sorry_ , just Mark - looks really confused, and honestly, so is Ethan. How the hell does everyone know that already? He sighs. It’s probably because he’s the loner at the allergy table. Go figure.

  
“That’s...the reason I’m not supposed to talk to him?” Mark asks, turning to Generic Jock #3 in surprise.

  
“Duh,” Jock Three answers, “you can’t go talking to kids with _allergies_. You're our _star_ _player_ , Mark! What would people think?"  
  
“Oh, also, he’s gay,” the singular girl jock brings up from his other side. Mark’s head whips to her instead, and he frowns.

  
“Stacy, _I’m_ gay,” he says, eyes wrinkled in confusion, which Ethan _definitely_ does _not_ find attractive.

  
“Yeah, but you’re different,” Jock One says, and before Mark can give him a response, he adds, “Also, his hair is blue.”

  
Mark is opening and closing his mouth uselessly, and Ethan’s pretty sure he’s about to point out how his hair used to be dyed too - how Ethan knows this, he is not sure - but instead, he finally says, “I’m going to sit with him.”

  
The gasps start up again, but this time, Ethan can actually see them doing it. Everyone in the room seems to follow Mark with their eyes as he begins to walk towards Ethan.  
He sits down at the next chair over, and suddenly no one seems to even remotely care anymore. They’ve all turned back to their food. The other jocks must have sat down at some point, but Ethan didn’t see where or when.

  
“So, you’re Ethan?” Mark says before Ethan can think on that any further. His head snaps to his right.

  
“Uh, yeah,” Ethan says. “Wait. How do you know my name?”

Mark shrugs, and rather than offer any sort of explanation, just replies, “I’m Mark.”  
  
Ethan shakes off the confusion. Being the new kid always makes people feel like this. At least, he thinks it does. “I heard,” he says. “Very loudly. So, you’re the ‘star player’?”

  
Mark frowns, and looks a little concerned for a moment, but his face clears in no time at all, as if it never changed in the first place. “Yeah,” he says, with a small chuckle. “At least, that’s what people keep telling me.”

  
Ethan isn’t sure if that’s a joke, but he laughs anyway. If the _star player_ or whatever is talking to him, that has to be a good sign. Mark laughs back, so Ethan assumes he made the right choice.

  
“What grade are you in?” Mark asks, looking Ethan up and down. Ethan has to hold back a groan. Mark has probably just joined the ranks of _People Who Are Pretty Sure Ethan Nestor Is A Freshman_.

  
“I’m a junior,” he says, reading Mark’s face carefully. He doesn’t seem at all surprised. “I’m seventeen.”

  
“Huh,” Mark responds, “I’m seventeen too. But I’m a senior.” The concerned look clouds his face again for a moment. “Sorry, are you sure you’re seventeen? I feel like we should be a little further apart than that.”

  
Ethan groans out loud this time. “Is that because I look like a freshman? Because I’m not. If I hear that one more fucking time-”

  
“No, no, no,” Mark assures him, “it’s not that.” His face goes right back to normal, as if nothing ever happened. “Just had a weird moment, that’s all.” Ethan squints at him for a moment, sceptically, but shrugs it off just as easily and picks up his baloney sandwich. (He doesn't remember grabbing his lunch at all. He doesn't even like baloney.)

  
Just as Ethan is lifting the sandwich to his mouth anyways, the bell rings. Loudly. (For bonus points, turns out the bell is directly above the allergy isolation table too.) Lunch is already over, even though it really only feels like it’s been about five minutes. Mark leaps up out of his chair, looking panicked.

  
“Oh no, I'm gonna be late for my next class!” Looking down at Ethan, Mark grins warmly. “You'd better hurry, too. I'll, uh, see you around?” Ethan nods, smiling awkwardly back at him.

  
“Yeah, see you around,” Ethan repeats. Mark grins wider before running out of the inexplicably-abandoned cafeteria. Ethan watches him go, a blush rising up his cheeks to his ears. Clumsily, he begins trying to gather his lunch without looking down, but his hands meet open space on the table. His lunch is gone already.

Weird. Mark must have taken it away for him and he hadn't noticed. Ethan resolves not to think about his kindness too hard, lest he turn even redder.  
  
Shrugging into his backpack again, Ethan sprints out of the cafeteria, praying to God that he won't be too late for period four.

—

And naturally, Ethan is late to period four.

  
“Mr. Nestor, is it?” The teacher peers over the rims of her glasses at him as he rips up to the classroom door ( _which class is this?_ ), a sour tilt to her thin lips. Ethan chuckles nervously, apologies already on the tip of his tongue. Shaking her head, the teacher raises a wrinkly, clawed hand at him, cutting him off. “I don't want excuses. It's your first day, so I'll go easy on you. Just go ahead and take your seat.”

  
Sighing with relief, Ethan slides into the empty desk by the window as smoothly as he can manage, and forces himself to ignore the hushed whispers and furtive glances his classmates are throwing his way. It's just because he's new, he tells himself, for the millionth time today. He's fresh meat. Teenagers are hungry for drama, and he's just the newest fodder for their addiction to chaos. By next week, nobody is even going to care about him.

  
Somehow, that thought isn't reassuring.

  
“ _Excuse me_ , Mr. Nestor?” A shrill voice cuts into his shitty self pep talk. Startled, Ethan's head whips to face the front of the room. Mrs. Sharp Nails - he figures dubbing her that is fair - points a taloned finger his way, her stare scrutinizing. He hadn't even realized she’d been talking.

  
“Y-yes, ma'am?” Ethan pipes up, shrinking back and earning more stifled laughter from his classmates. Mrs. Sharp Nails stares him down pointedly, her mouth forming a distinctly un-friendly ‘M’ shape.

  
“Would you be so kind as to answer number one for us all?” She asks, deadpan. Ethan looks up at the board, brows knitting together. In stark white chalk, it reads, _WHY IS THE RIGHT TO BEAR ARMS DIRECTLY UNDER THE RIGHT TO FREEDOM OF RELIGION AND EXPRESSION?_ Ethan gulps, feeling a cold sweat break out on his forehead.

  
“Oh,” he laughs, borne more from fear than humor, “this is history class.” With a sneer, Mrs. Sharp Nails turns back to her desk, picking up a pad of pink paper and a pen.  
“I didn't want to have to do this, given it's your first day, but you've left me no choice,” she clucks, scribbling onto the pad with practiced ease. She licks a finger (Ethan’s just surprised that she doesn't cut herself with those nails) and fluidly tears the top sheet off, then walks it over to Ethan’s desk. She slaps it down in front of him, leaning down to his eye level. “Detention,” she snarls. Her breath smells horrendous, and Ethan fights back the urge to shirk away from her even further than he already has. As she walks away, Ethan groans inwardly, letting his head fall into his hands.

His first day and he's already landed himself in detention. Ethan’s fucking _killing_ it.

—  
  
The detention room is absolutely fucking freezing, and Ethan gets goosebumps the second he walks in. For some reason, it’s not as brightly lit as the rest of the school, either. It’s like he’s stepped into a room entirely intended for student torture - which is honestly likely.

  
He averts his eyes from whoever the adult watching over the room is - the principal? A teacher? He’s not sure. Gaze glued to the dirty off-white tiles, he finds an open seat in the very back row and sits himself down, awaiting his untimely death.

  
“Hey, Ethan, what are _you_ doing here?”

  
Ethan’s head snaps up in response to the familiar voice, and he finds the seat next to him is  
occupied - by Mark.

  
“I got detention,” Ethan says, dumbly, as if it isn’t obvious. Mark is definitely about to ask why, but Ethan beats him to it, answering, “I was late to history, and then the teacher said she’d let me off easy because it’s my first day, but _then_ I didn’t pay attention in class, so she sent me here.”

  
Mark snorts. “You have Mrs. Sharp Nails too, huh?” 

Ethan laughs. “You call her that?”

  
“ _Everyone_ calls her that,” Mark tells him, which Ethan tries not to find odd, because it’s a very specific nickname to have accidentally picked up on. “She’s horrible.”

  
“What’s her real name?” Ethan asks, tapping his fingers absentmindedly across the desk in front of him.  
  
Mark opens his mouth, then closes it tightly. The concern is on his face again. “I...don’t know,” he says, then shakes his head and laughs it off. “‘Cause no one ever calls her by it.”

  
Ethan adds this to “The List Of Things I Am Desperately Trying To Ignore” - _trying_ being the operative word here. “How’d you end up here, Mr. Star Player?”

“I have detention,” Mark answers, just like Ethan had, but he doesn’t go on.

Ethan blinks, hesitating. He’s wondering if maybe he should just leave it be - another addition to The List - but he can’t stop himself from asking, “Well, what did you _do_?”  
  
Mark cocks his head to the left. “Hm,” he says. “Dunno.” With that, he turns back to the front of the room. Either he’s trying not to talk in detention, or he’s avoiding Ethan’s eyes.

“ _Mr. Fischbach_ ,” the man at the front of the room booms, “no talking.”

Okay, it’s the former. That’s reassuring. Ethan decides it’s probably just something personal, or embarrassing, or both, and so he drops it. It didn’t really matter, anyways.

  
“So you missed out on today’s history class?” Mark asks, as if he’d never been caught talking. Ethan eyes the front of the room. Mr. Booming Voice is looking directly at them, but he doesn’t say anything. Odd.

  
Ethan nods. “Yeah, I think it was something about the constitution.” What he doesn’t say is that he definitely should’ve heard the other forty-five minutes of class after he got in trouble, but he can’t remember any of it.

  
“It is,” Mark tells him. “I took notes. Are you busy this afternoon? I could come over and help you study.”

  
Ethan is about to complain - among other things, he can’t believe Mark just invited himself over to Ethan’s house instead of asking Ethan to his - but he thinks better of it. It’s his first day and someone already wants to come over to his house. And not just _any_ someone. It’s the _cute gay jock_ kind of someone. How the hell is Ethan supposed to turn that down?

  
“I’m not busy,” he says. He can’t believe Mark had to ask. He’s got no friends and no extracurriculars - again, it’s his _first_ _day_. The answer seems obvious. But he won’t argue. This is a _perfect_ opportunity.

  
Maybe too perfect.

  
Ethan narrows his eyes. “You’re not coming over on a dare or a bet or something, right?”

Mark frowns. “Sorry, what?”

  
Ethan feels stupid, but now he has to explain. “You’re the cool popular jock,” he says. “I’ve seen the movies. Popular kids only hang out with the new kids because their popular friends dare them to do it.” He’s cringing as he finishes, because somehow he knows Mark is _not_ that kind of guy.

  
“Oh, right.” Mark laughs a little, but it doesn’t seem to be directed at Ethan, so it’s okay. Ethan laughs too, even if he doesn’t know what’s funny yet. “I forgot you were new,” Mark explains. “I feel like I’ve known you way l onger than one day.”

  
Ethan isn’t sure if that’s creepy or romantic, but he hopes for the latter and thus he answers, “Yeah. I feel like that too.”

  
Mr. Booming Voice clears his throat, and Ethan and Mark simultaneously turn to the front of the room, convinced they’re about to be reprimanded, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, he says, “Detention is over. I’d better not see any of you in here again.” A stereotypical misfit-looking kid in the corner snickers as she leaves the room, but everyone else files out quietly, leaving just Ethan and Mark.

  
Ethan stands up, grabbing his bag from the floor. “Huh,” he says. “How long is detention?”

“An hour,” Mark replies breezily. “Why?”

  
Ethan almost points out that there is _no_ _way_ an hour just passed, but then he decides to keep his mouth shut and simply shrugs. He shoves that onto The List with everything else about the day. Besides, he knows time can seem to go far more quickly than it actually does. That’s just science, probably. The day seems long enough already - it’s kind of relieving that at least some part of it felt short.

  
Ethan almost trips on the curb wrapping around the parking lot, falling forward a little before Mark catches him by the arm and pulls him back. Is it normal to shudder at literally any touch from a guy you just met? Because Ethan does.

  
“You good?” Mark asks. “Are you paying attention?”

  
“Must not have been,” Ethan answers sheepishly, looking back to the school behind him. He blanked out for the entire walk outside. Of course he did. Mark probably said something really important that he missed out on, too.

  
“Come on, my car’s this way.” Yup. That’d be it.

  
Ethan definitely doesn’t remember agreeing to catching a ride with Mark, but his house is a decent distance away, and he’s exhausted. Plus, if the car they’re walking towards is Mark’s, Ethan is about to have an _awesome_ time.

It’s a bright fucking red convertible, cool in the way that Ethan doesn’t need to be a car nut to see. (That’s lucky for him, because he isn’t.) Mark slides effortlessly into the driver’s side like some sort of eighties movie character. He gestures to the passenger seat, looking Ethan directly in the eye. “You coming?”

  
“Y - yeah. Of course,” Ethan stammers, trying his best not to sprint for the beautiful car and the beautiful boy sitting inside it. He slides into the passenger seat _almost_ as easily as Mark had sat in the driver’s, and slams the door behind him. “Alright,” he says, like he’s psyching himself up, even if he isn’t sure what he’s psyching himself up for. “Let’s go.”

  
The drive to Ethan’s house is quick - they probably could’ve walked but...sexy car, sexy jock. You know. Ethan frowns as he climbs out of the car.

  
“Hey, did I tell you how to get to my house?” Ethan asks, staring up at the entranceway that suddenly seems a little imposing.

  
Mark just shrugs and says, “Sure.” It’s a non-answer, but neither of them feel like questioning any further. As quickly as he can, Ethan makes his way inside, Mark hot on his heels. He opens his door, holds it for Mark - who dips his head in thanks, which is kind of super adorable - and closes it behind them. He barely notices that the door had never been locked. It’s a nice neighborhood, he tells himself, why would he bother?

  
Mark looks around the hall, acting impressed even though Ethan’s house is average in every single possible way. “Nice place,” he comments appreciatively. Ethan wonders if maybe his own house isn’t quite as nice as this. He doesn’t ask.

  
“Yeah, I guess,” he says, shrugging off his bag and dropping it haphazardly in the entryway. Mark follows him towards the stairs, still looking around.

  
“Parents home?” he asks out of nowhere.

  
“ _What_?” Ethan spits out, flustered. He is _not_ blushing. He’s _not_. 

  
“Oh, shit, I mean like-” Mark shakes his head, and continues, while somehow making it more awkward. “Not that I _don’t_ \- I mean, we _just_ _met_ \- I was just-”

  
“No,” Ethan interrupts him, avoiding eye contact as he makes his way up the stairs. “They’re at work.” _I_ _think_ , he adds in his head.

  
“Ah, what do they do?” Mark asks, as if he never said anything. 

Ethan shrugs, hopefully in a ‘I don’t care’ sort of way. “My mom is a nurse. My dad’s probably a lawyer.” He surprises himself when he says his mom is a nurse. He doesn’t know where it came from, but it must be true.

  
“ _Probably_ a lawyer?” Mark asks as they finally enter Ethan’s mess of a room.

  
Ethan shuts the door behind him, as if there’s anyone else in the house in the first place. “He doesn’t talk about work much.”

  
Mark nods, and that’s the end of that.

  
Ethan drops his bag on the floor next to his bed, and leans down to pull out his history work, which is more a blank worksheet he hasn’t even read yet than it is _work_ , technically speaking. (But Ethan is not one to speak technically. Therefore, it's a worksheet.)

  
He drops down into the chair by his desk with a sigh, staring sadly at the crumpled packet. He hates this already. Schoolwork is...not his idea of fun, to say the least. He pauses a moment. _Then how did he get that private school scholarship, anyways?_ But then Mark sits down on the bed - probably as close to Ethan as he could physically manage - and the thought falls out of reach.

  
“So, you missed all of today?” Mark asks, looking over the messily stapled packet, flipping through a few of the pages.

  
“I guess,” Ethan says, which is as close to truth as he’s going to (let himself) get.  
“Hm,” Mark says thoughtfully, flipping back to the front of the work and nodding. “So, I think the first thing we need to talk about is - _HEY!_ ”

  
Ethan jumps in shock as a bundle of gray and brown fur slams itself straight into Mark, knocking him over. Realizing what just happened, he groans.

  
“ _Spencer!_ Leave Mark alone,” he begs, pulling the little dog back as he tries to lick Mark’s face.

  
“No, he’s fine!” Mark assures him, sitting up and scratching Spencer behind his ears. Spencer pants happily. “I have a dog, too.”

  
Shit, could this guy be any more perfect? Ethan tries to say something other than “ _marry me right fucking now_ ” and settles on, “Oh, she must be sweet.”

  
Mark cocks his head. “Yeah, she is. How’d you know?”

“Hm?” Ethan frowns.

“How’d you know my dog’s a she, I mean,” he elaborates, looking at Ethan over Spencer’s head.

  
Ethan shrugs. He seems to have made a habit of doing that. “Fifty-fifty chance.”

  
Mark nods, then pulls a faux-serious face and says, “At least I know you don’t need any math tutoring.”

  
Ethan can’t help it - he breaks down into laughter. In the gaps between the chuckles, he manages to get out, “Hey - don’t look at me like - I’m a fuckin’ _idiot_ , you dick!”

  
Mark looks like he wants to pretend to be hurt, but it clearly doesn’t work. He starts to laugh, too. His laugh is goofy, and loud, but it's so warm that it makes Ethan's heart soar in his chest. (And that’s fine. That's a fine reaction to a guy he literally just met and knows nothing about yet. Ethan’s doing fine.)

  
“But you _are_ an idiot!” Mark reasons through giggles ( _fucking giggles!!!_ ). Now it's Ethan's turn to feign offense, as he leans back with a hand to his chest.

  
“We’ve only just met!” Ethan gasps.

  
Mark sputters, choking down more laughter, “Well, it doesn't feel like it!”

  
And _that_ , that statement, shoots right to the top of The List. It should alarm Ethan, how at ease and comfortable he is, with this random kid he met mere hours ago sitting in his house, petting his dog, laughing _with_ him instead of _at_ him like he's been dealing with all day. For a moment, he even manages to feel alarmed by it. But it's true, what Mark said; Ethan feels like he's known him for way, _way_ longer than he has.

  
He feels warm, and friendly, and comforting. Ethan brushes his worries off for the millionth time, and hopes to God it isn't just this newfound crush talking.

  
“We should probably actually get to working on history, huh?” Mark pipes up, tucking himself up onto Ethan's bed cross-legged. Ethan nods, spinning to face his desk as he searches through the mess for a pencil or something.

  
“Yeah, probably,” he says, half-heartedly. He hears Mark rummage through his own backpack behind him.

  
“Cool,” Mark mutters, then pauses. “Uhh, where's your work?” Ethan’s brows knit together, and he whirls around to face Mark again.

“I handed it to you?” he says. Mark just looks at him, perplexed. “I took it out of my bag,” Ethan insists, “it's right...” Ethan points to the floor by the bed, but when he follows his own finger, he trails off. “Right there.”

  
His bag isn't there.

  
“Um, I think you left it downstairs in the foyer?” Mark supplies. Ethan squints at the empty space on the floor, then slowly nods.

  
“Huh. I must have.” Shaking his head, Ethan rises from his chair. “I'll go get it, then, that's so weird.” He hurries from the room (only taking a moment to reflect on the fact that the door was also open, even though Ethan swears he closed it, maybe Spencer learned how to open doors today), zipping down and back up the stairs as quickly as possible. When he gets back, Mark is sitting patiently, looking over his own schoolwork.

  
“Okay, well anyways,” Ethan begins, dropping back down into his chair unceremoniously, “I somehow missed the entire class.” Mark smirks, and side-eyes Ethan's mildly crumpled worksheets as he tugs them free from his bag.

  
“Like, all of it?” Mark prods. Ethan nods, sputtering out a laugh.

  
“Yeah. I don't know, man, time went so fast today. I swear I missed, like, whole _hours_.” Ethan says. Mark throws his head back, that sunshiney giggle coming back.

  
“I get that feeling _all the time_ ,” Mark reassures, “you're totally fine, dude. School is just like that sometimes.” Ethan lets out a dramatic sigh of relief.

  
“Thank god, I thought I was going fuckin’ crazy,” he says. Mark giggles again, and Ethan can't help the way he swoons, hiding it by looking down at his work. He clears his throat, feeling his ears burn a little. “Okay, so the constitution.”

  
Mark looks down at his neatly organized notes, then turns to Ethan’s half-destroyed worksheet and shakes his head. “Shit, I don’t really think I can focus on the constitution right now.” He’s staring, _way too hard_ , and Ethan is getting this crazy feeling that, just like all of today, this is accelerating way faster than normal. And yet...

  
“What do you m-” Ethan cuts himself off with a squeal when Mark leans in and kisses him, quickly not as if he doesn’t care, but as if he’s scared if he moves too slowly Ethan will try to stop him.

  
Ethan does _not_ do that.

  
He does pull back, barely, and finds himself staring into Mark’s eyes. They’re pretty, he thinks.

“Whoa, deja vu,” he says without thinking. Mark’s eyes crinkle - in the “frown” way, not the “laugh” way, which Ethan likes way better.

  
“What do you mean?” he asks, sitting back on his heels, which makes Ethan _really_ wish he hadn’t said anything. But still, it doesn’t seem to matter. This should probably feel totally awkward, holy shit, he just got kissed by a dude he _just met_ , but somehow it feels totally normal, because-

  
“Sorry, it just feels like we’ve done this before,” Ethan says, then somehow goes even brighter red than he did before. How he managed that, he does not know. It just slips out, and it feels like he just said something _way_ too forward for a first kiss.

  
But Mark doesn’t look confused at all. “It does, huh?” He laughs. It’s a warm, gentle laugh, and it might be what makes Ethan feel so at home, as if he could live inside the soundwaves in produces, and damn it, now he’s got it so bad he’s waxing poetic about a stupid _laugh_. _It’s been less than twenty-four hours_ , he reminds himself, but he can’t seem to care.

  
Ethan slowly shifts himself closer to Mark, lifting up a hand to trace the crinkles around Mark’s eyes - smiling, not frowning now. Mark leans into the touch, eyes closing gently for a brief moment. And in that moment, Ethan finds it in himself to close the gap between them and kiss Mark back.


	2. Tuesday?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYEEEEEEE WE DID IT. A SECOND CHAPTER. WHO'DATHUNKIT.
> 
> anyways. enjoy. we're gettin spicy now. evil uwu.
> 
> -k+w

When Ethan opens his eyes again, he's in period one. Dazed, drunk on love, and sitting in AP Bio despite not making any effort to be there at all.

Holy shit, Mark must be really, _really_ good at making out if he managed to make Ethan forget _the rest of the night_. 

Ethan’s gay. 

And pathetic. 

But seriously, how the fuck did he get to school?

Around him, the classroom buzzes, students filing in and chattering before the bell rings. Perplexed, Ethan’s eyes dart around, wracking his brain for any explanation for how he even got here. He doesn't have very much time to think, though, because a pretty, sparkly blonde sits herself down directly beside him.

“Morning, bestie!” she sings, aiming a bright pink smile at him. Ethan just gets confused-er (and Ethan decides that's a word this morning, yes sir, thank you). 

“I… bestie? Good morning?” Ethan stumbles out, feeling dumb. The blonde laughs harder than she should, leaning in to rest her hand on Ethan's thigh.

“You say that like you don't even know me!” she insists. Ethan flounders.

“I-- I, uh--” 

“Hello?” The blonde leans back, casually flipping her hair over her shoulder, “Brittney Smith, hottest girl in junior year, your best friend, have been forever?” Ethan peers at her, making a face he can only assume is very ugly. The girl - _Brittney_ , apparently - is practically unfazed as she examines her cream coloured acrylic nails. 

“I… just started here yesterday,” Ethan counters, and Brittney laughs again. (It's too perfect of a laugh, too pretty and controlled. Come to think of it, everything she does seems to be melodic, and manufactured. Ethan decides he kind of hates it. He also decides not to say that he does, because someone else who isn't Mark is actually talking to him. That has to count as a win.)

“Wow, you get a new boo and you totally forget about me? I'm wounded, Ethey, you're such a jokester,” chimes Brittney. “We met in, like, kindergarten, I left Saint Whatever's not even two months before you did. And now you're here, so we can be full-time BFFs again!” Brittney squeals, grabbing Ethan's arm in glee and digging her nails in. Ethan forces a laugh, trying not to acknowledge the fact that he barely fucking remembers her at all, and any memories he can scrounge up feel distant and unnatural, as if he were watching them in third person. (Save that for The List, too.)

“You got me, I'm a comedian,” Ethan acquiesces with a nervous smile. Brittney smirks at him, smoothing the shoulders of his clothes out. 

“Nice jacket, by the way,” she says, winking coyly at him. Ethan feels his face heat up as he acknowledges, for the first time, what he's wearing. Mark’s #5 letterman jacket drowns him, hanging off him because it's way too big. But, it's cozy, and smells like Mark’s cologne, and it's got his last name embroidered on the left hand side, right over the heart. Ethan smiles to himself, tucking his hands up into the sleeves and giving himself little sweater paws. Brittney squeaks, whipping her flip phone out. 

“Too cute! Someone’s _blushiiiiiing_!” Brittney says, snapping a picture of Ethan. He barely even notices, too wrapped up in his big gay panic. Is this the high school version of engagement? Is he gonna have to elope in Vegas? Ethan can practically see it, plagued by flashes of Future Ethan and Future Mark standing in front of an altar in fancy suits - he shakes his head, and they fade away as easily as his memories of Brittney had. (Oddly enough, the imaginary wedding was in first person. Well, that’s just another one for The List.) 

“I’m _not_ ,” Ethan insists, even though he definitely is. This is what high schoolers do with their friends, right? Probably, definitely. He frowns. Is it weird that he’s thinking about “what high schoolers do” as if he’s an alien trying to learn to assimilate himself into adolescent culture? List. It’s all for The List now. 

Brittney giggles, but before she can actually say something, the bell rings. Ethan frowns. _When the fuck did the whole class go by?_ He hasn’t learned _shit_. Then again, that’s probably about what he should’ve expected. 

“I have to… get to…” Ethan stares out the window, hoping the name of the class he needs to get to will magically pop into his head, like the memories of Brittney and his mom’s job. It works. “...math. I have to get to math.” 

“Oh, okay!” Brittney grins a sparkly smile (why is everything about her _sparkly_?) and waves at him as if she couldn’t have followed him out of the room. Ethan turns tail as quickly as he can, trying to get away from his terrifying best friend. Things just don’t feel right when he’s around her - that’s not how friendship is supposed to work. Right?

Ethan walks into his math class and takes the first open desk he sees. Every single person seems to gasp as he enters the room, like his existence is some sort of weird plot twist they didn’t see coming. A second later, he realizes it’s just because of his jacket - well, Mark’s jacket. The fact it _isn’t_ his jacket is the whole point. 

“You should keep that. It looks better on you.”

Ethan jumps out of his _fucking skin_.

Mark is already sitting next to him, leaning forward on his elbows and grinning in self-satisfaction. Ethan holds back a scream.

“Where’d you come from?” he asks, forcing himself to close his mouth so he doesn’t look so fucking _shocked_. 

“I was here when you walked in,” Mark answers, cocking his head to the side in a way that _isn’t_ attractive, for the record. 

Ethan smiles, weakly at first, but the more he stares at Mark, the wider it gets - the more he realizes he means it. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says like some kind of lovestruck idiot who forgot how high school worked. Of course Mark is in the class he _has_ to be in - but Ethan still feels like Mark had stepped into this room just to see him - even if he hadn’t been there yet.

It’s a whole wild circle of thoughts that he dizzies himself trying to follow, so he just stops following it. Mark is smiling warmly back. He probably just said something, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is the crinkle of his eyes, the gentle curve of his smile, how at ease he looks here, in an environment that has been so chaotic for Ethan…

“Mr. Fischbach, could you please tell us the answer to question one?”

Ah, damn it. Another moment ruined by an antagonistic teacher.

Mark jumps, mumbling, “Fuck, uh, fuck…” His head snaps up to meet the teacher’s eyes. “FIVE,” he says loudly, nodding almost unnoticeably to himself as if he’s trying to create his own reassurance - _almost_ unnoticeably, but of course, Ethan notices. When it comes to Mark, he’s determined to notice _everything_. There’s a million little details that make Mark so perfect, and Ethan intends to categorize every single one. 

But, shit, they’re also in class, or whatever.

The teacher stares into Mark’s eyes, in a _completely_ different way than Ethan is still finding himself doing, and instead of scowling like Ethan has learned so many teachers at this school love to do, she breaks into a grin. “Excellent, Mark!” She turns to address the whole class now, beaming as if she just watched her puppy do a backflip, or some ridiculous shit like that, not like a kid in her high school math class just answered a question correctly. “Mark is such an amazing student, everyone. I hope you will all follow his example - show up early, learn quickly, and keep persevering!”

Ethan turns to look at Mark, who looks absolutely stunned, as if this is the first time he’s ever heard any of this. Ethan looks back to the teacher, who has her hands clasped together in glee, and suddenly everyone in the class is on their feet, clapping like Mark has just scored a game winning touchdown - is that the sport he plays? Ethan is gonna be honest, he doesn’t even know which sport that _is_.

“Mark, do they always do this?” Ethan asks, perplexed, trying to ignore the fact that he and Mark are the only students still in their seats.

Mark presses his lips together in a (wholly unattractive, of course) frown. 

“Honestly?” he says. “I don’t know.”

\---

Ethan preemptively groans the second he steps foot in the lunchroom. He’d gotten enough gasps just by being new and existing yesterday, and now he’s walking into the space in tandem with the school’s “star player”, wearing his letterman jacket, with his arm wrapped tight around his shoulder. This is going to be _hell._

Sure enough, the entire lunchroom goes completely silent, and Ethan realizes every single person is staring at the two of them. Shit, are they literally the _last_ two people in the school to walk into this cafeteria? Ethan could’ve sworn he left class on time. 

Well, he...doesn’t exactly remember leaving class. Or even going to period three, for that matter. But, he must have done it all if he’s at lunch now.

(List.)

Before Ethan’s mind can wander too far, the gasps start. Mark shifts his grip from Ethan’s shoulder to his hand. “Just stick with me,” he mumbles out of the corner of his mouth. “They’ll forget as soon as we sit down.”

Ethan gives him a worried look, but Mark only tightens his grip on Ethan’s hand and pulls him down the center of the crowded room, which has parted like the Red Sea - more like the red carpet, is what Ethan thinks - to allow them passage.

But Mark is right. The second they sit down at the tragically isolated allergy-safe table, the gasps stop, and everyone seems interested in their lunches again. Ethan doesn’t even think “List” this time. It’s just implied.

“Told you,” Mark says, grinning amiably like what just happened was all _nice_ and _normal_ and other _bullshit_ like that. Ethan forces a smile, even though he’s completely unsettled.

“Yeah,” he says, “you were right. Thanks.” 

Ethan’s just about to, well, actually _chill_ for the first time today, but just as he reaches for his sandwich (fucking baloney, again), a thick hand smacks down on the table beside him. Ethan nearly bites his tongue. 

“Look what the cat dragged in!” A nasally voice says from above. Ethan follows the hand up, up, to find a stocky, honestly-rather-ugly looking boy, also wearing a letterman jacket, sneering down at him. Sweat drips from his buzzed hairline, slipping down his large nose and falling onto the table. Ethan makes a face, and he feels Mark tense right up beside him.

“What the fuck do _you_ want, Francis?” Mark snarls. Francis ( _what a name_ , Ethan thinks) smirks at him.

“Just checking out the new boytoy in your number, Five!” Francis chirps, yanking at the collar of Ethan’s jacket, _hard_. “This is a cute one, you done good!” Ethan barely has time to react before Mark is standing up, positively fucking raging. 

“He's not a fucking boytoy, and you're gonna leave, now.” Mark seeths. He’s nose to nose with the bully, and Ethan almost finds himself feeling scared of him. Mark getting angry is rare, but intimidating. 

Wait. How does Ethan know that?

“Or else what, _Fiver_?” Francis challenges. “You gonna tattle to Coach about me again? We all know you're all talk. The team wouldn't be anything without me!” With all the bravado of a burly jock who’s going to peak at graduation and then work as a deadbeat mechanic after losing his sport scholarship to alcoholism can muster, Francis leans in, laughing lowly. “If I wanna bug you and your fruity little twink, I will. You won't do anything, doofus.” 

In that moment, Mark chooses to do something.

A crack resounds through the cafeteria as Mark’s fist connects with Francis’ cheekbone. Blindly, Francis stumbles away, his back slamming into the wall. A low hum of whispers and gasps arises as Mark chokes out a startled laugh.

“I did it,” Mark whispers incredulously. Ethan watches Francis grapple for purchase against the wall, before glancing over to Mark, who’s staring down at his hands in shock, like he’d never expected himself to do that. Ethan is surprised too - this seems oddly… out of character for Mark. (But how should he know? He’s known the dude for all of twenty-four hours now.) Mark turns away from his hands, and Ethan follows his eyeline to join him in staring at the wall where Francis is… 

_Was_ . Where Francis _was_.

There’s no one to be seen pressed up against the dusty bricks of the cafeteria wall. Ethan’s head swivels in a quick circle, searching the room for any sign of the jock, who should by all means be _impossible_ to miss. But somehow, that’s become possible. Ethan can’t see him anywhere. 

“He ran fast,” Mark comments, but his tone makes it seem like Francis is not the kind of guy to “run” “fast”. Ethan shakes it off. He’s reading too deep into that - Mark knows Francis way better than he does. Aren’t all jocks fast and athletic, anyways?

“Mark?” Ethan says uncomfortably, slowly sitting back down in his seat. (Mark is sitting down, too, but last Ethan checked, he was pretty sure his...his _whatever_ was standing. Friend? Boyfriend? Random jock he kissed last night? Complete stranger he’s known for a day?)

“It’s quiet,” Mark replies, hitting Ethan’s thoughts right on the head. “Why is it so quiet?”

Ethan looks around again, as if he’ll see what’s causing the unsettling silence. Nothing seems amiss for a moment - everyone is frozen in the middle of the normal lunch customs of talking, yelling, and making out in corners where you know everyone can see you.

But wait, no, they’re _frozen_. 

No one in the cafeteria is moving. They’re all stuck in their completely normal positions, which in turn makes the positions completely _ab_ normal. It’s as if someone hit the pause button on the day; even the clock has stopped ticking, and fear settles itself low in the pit of Ethan's stomach.

“What the fuck?” Mark whispers, staring wide-eyed around the room. Warily, he grabs onto Ethan's wrist… and the second his touch connects, life kicks back into motion. 

Students begin to move again, as if that momentary limbo never happened. The clock ticks, the hum resumes, the world hits play. Ethan’s breath quickens as he turns to look Mark in the eye, a silent question hanging in the air between them. _Am I going crazy?_

Mark’s somber expression, paired with the squeeze of his hand on his wrist, answers firmly. _No, we are going crazy together._

The ticking of the clock seems amplified, above the din of the cafeteria. It marks out seconds, proclaims them to the room, and it kind of makes Ethan's fucking skin crawl. He's pretty sure there's no more space on The List to write anything else, at this point. Something is _wrong_. 

“That was… _weird_ ,” Mark says, blinking rapidly. His grip on Ethan slackens, and Ethan practically watches the metaphorical wool slide back over his eyes. 

“Oh, god,” he says, shaking himself out of his brief blank-out. Ethan expects him to say something a normal person would say in this situation, such as “holy shit, that was really fucked up, did you see that”, but what he says instead is, “We’re gonna be late to class.”

“What?” Ethan blinks, surprised. He turns his head to see where Mark is looking, and sees the entire lunchroom streaming out as one large mass to get to their fourth period classes. Had lunch really gone by that fast? (Not that time seems to have been working lately, or anything.)

Mark doesn’t respond, and it takes Ethan a few moments too long to realize it’s because he’s joined the crowd leaving through the large double doors. Some kid jumps up and slaps his hand against the top of the doorframe, and some unseen group of kids cheers in response. In an instant, Ethan can no longer spot him in the swarm of bodies, and suddenly he’s the only one in the lunchroom.

“Shit,” he hisses, and starts running for his goddamn life.

\--

By some fucking miracle, Ethan is not late to fourth period.

Mrs. Sharp Nails gives him a pointed, beady-eyed glare over her attendance clipboard, and he winces as he slides into his seat. He almost expects her to hurl a witty remark his way, but it never comes. She must already hate him. At least every other teacher has had a chirp or two, at least to humour him and make him feel less awful and put-off by this fucked up school. 

…Ethan's having a good day.

Ethan experiences history class in a series of three realizations: 

Realization One, he's actually experiencing the full class. That's noteworthy on its own, as Ethan's pretty sure that this is the first class he's been conscious of since he started here at… whatever the hell the school is called. He’ll find out later.

Realization Two, he finds himself paying actual attention. Ethan is amazed that he's even capable of this, but he's focused in on Mrs. Sharp Nails’ lecture on the constitution in a way that he has never, _ever_ experienced in a school environment. It's as if his ADHD has totally jumped ship. He barely feels like himself. He's just a sponge for historical information right now.

Realization Three, Ethan gets everything being said to him. For some reason, he feels like he seriously studied last night. And beyond that, when Ethan roots around in his bag for his textbook and worksheets that he very much _didn't_ work on last night, he finds them all flawlessly completed, and in his own handwriting. So he did it. 

Ethan's not exactly sure how he managed to copy Mark’s work when he was busy straddling his lap and languidly kissing him, but hey: if that's how to study successfully? Ethan will gladly take it. 

List. If it were a physical sheet of paper, Ethan would be writing really, really small in the margins at this point. 

Ethan is _so relieved_ that he’s finally going to remain conscious that it almost pisses him off when, fifteen minutes from their release to fifth period, some kid he’s never seen before bolts into the room, hanging off the doorframe, and yells, “ _GUYS!_ It’s up!”

Suddenly everyone in this class is out of their seats and rampaging through the door after the random dude. Ethan glances up at Mrs. Sharp Nails, waiting for her to stop them, but for some reason she does… absolutely nothing. She’s sitting down at her desk, rifling through papers, not even paying attention to the ruckus that her class has become. Ethan shrugs. Why the fuck not? With that, he gets up and trails after the crowd. 

He finds them all in the main hall, gawking at what appears to be a sheet of paper taped to the wall. Somehow, Ethan immediately remembers - well, it feels more like “remembers”, in quotation marks - what’s going on. This is the cast list for the school play.

He rolls his eyes. Damn theater kids. He didn’t audition, so why is he even here watching them cheer and jump up and down when they see their names on the sheet? Seriously, too many people are doing it, how did so many of them get cast? 

Suddenly, as if on cue, the entire group turns to Ethan, heads swivelling like owls. They’re all dramatically gasping as if he’s just done something scandalous. One girl steps forward out of the crowd. She grins, shaking her head so her dirty-green hair bounces out of her eyes. How is that color not disgusting? Why does it suit her? It’s so recognizable - how has he not seen her anywhere before now? (Or has he? Does he know her?)

“You know, I thought I had the lead in the bag,” she says, “but you know what? You’ve got this shit. I’m _proud_ to be your understudy.”

Ethan opens and closes his mouth like he’s gasping for air. No, more like he’s grasping for truth. How can someone be his understudy if he isn’t in the play? He cannot stress this enough - _he never auditioned_. He’s pretty sure he didn’t even get to this school until auditions were done, anyways. 

There are hushed whispers among the crowd that are somehow the perfect volume to just barely be understandable. The closest one Ethan can catch is, “ _What’s going on? Mika has never been an understudy._ ” He frowns. The name matches the face a little too easily in his mind. He shakes his head. No need for the List anymore - it’s already obvious something is very, very wrong. 

“ _I’m_ the lead?” he asks, slowly, like he’s talking to somehow who knows enough English words to count them on two hands. “But I didn’t even-”

“I didn’t _audition_!” someone yells from somewhere deep in the crowd. Ethan’s so used to this weird bullshit that he already knows who it is.

“Are you kidding? You nailed the audition!” someone else says. 

Ethan turns to Mika, who’s still standing in front of him, beaming, like she’s actually _happy_ she didn’t get the part. Ethan’s sure she has some secret motivation for that relief - or, more likely, whatever cruel god is controlling this fucked up universe has no idea how people react to such normal high school experiences such as “not getting the part” and “kissing” and “having an allergy”. He shakes his head. Not the time for that. _If it’s not the time for that now,_ part of him whispers in his head, _it’s never going to be the time._

He pushes all his thoughts back and groans instead. “Let me guess,” he says to Mika, who cocks her head to the side inquisitively. “Mark’s the other lead.”

Mika frowns. “How do you know that? Did you get an early look at the list? I wouldn’t blame you. I almost did myself. And then my girlfriend said it was _a bad idea_ and _unfair_ and _Mika, it doesn’t matter what part you get, I love you no matter what_.” She shrugs. “She says stuff like that a lot. Fuckin’ gross. But I love her, so what can I do?”

Ethan gets the persistent feeling that if he saw Mika’s girlfriend, he’d recognize her, too. For whatever reason, all the important players in this story seem familiar to him. Mark, Mika, and he assumes Mika’s girlfriend, as well. Speaking of-

“Hey, Mika, welcome to the understudy club!” a voice calls as a guy pushes through the crowd, holding up his hand for the loudest high five ever created. His hand comes down bright red. “ _Ow_ , Meeks,” he says. “You’ll never stop doing that, will you?”

“Oh, Nathe,” Mika purrs out, sappy sweet, and, if Ethan knows her - which he...doesn’t? - it’s all fake. “I never will.”

The guy - Nathe? - turns to Ethan and holds out his hand. He’s almost exactly Ethan’s height, with dark hair pushed back from his forehead, and an oversized hoodie that conceals most of his body. He doesn’t look _that_ familiar. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

“I’m Nathan,” he says, reaching out a hand for Ethan to shake. _Who does that?_ Nevertheless, Ethan takes it. “I’m your boyfriend’s understudy.”

“My boyf-” Ethan cuts himself off, trying not to look shocked. How does the entire school know Mark is his boyfriend before _he_ even knew? This is the first _he’s_ hearing of it. He shakes his head, again. It’s becoming a habit. “So,” he says instead, fishing for something else to talk about, and settles on, “Nathan’s a cool name.”

Nathan smiles. “Thanks!” he says, and when he catches Mika giving him a knowing smirk, he sighs. “And before Mika makes it a whole thing, it’s my middle name, actually. I swear, you tell a girl your full name _once_ -”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, _Norbert Nathan Moses_ ,” Mika replies, flashing him a faux innocent grin. Nathan rolls his eyes. This is obviously a whole thing. Ethan decides to stay out of it, nodding and turning away. As soon as he does, Mark is running toward him.

“Ethan, why are we-” he starts, breathless.

“Wait,” Ethan says, looking to watch as Mika and Nathan stroll away, chatting animatedly with each other. He looks back at Mark. He swore the list was closed, but now he’s going to need to open it again. This is just too weird. “You yelled that you didn’t audition,” he begins, stating a fact so he doesn’t sound so crazy when he says what he’s going to say next. 

“Yeah, did you-” 

“No,” Ethan cuts him off. “But that’s not the point.”

“I think it’s-”

“When you yelled that, what did you do?” he presses, watching Mark’s brow furrow in confusion. 

“Ran over here?” Mark replies, the question mark at the end betraying his nervousness. Ethan must look insane. Maybe he is.

“Immediately?” he asks. Mark is still confused.

“Right after I yelled, if that’s what you’re asking,” Mark answers.

“So why did I feel like I spent five minutes meeting our understudies?” Ethan asks. “It’s like someone wanted me to meet them in depth and you took forever so you couldn’t be able to interru-”

“Eth! C’mere!” Ethan turns around and spots Mika and Nathan at the other end of the hall. A brunette is standing next to Mika - Ethan does, in fact, somehow recognize her girlfriend. Go figure. “We’re skipping fifth to run lines, wanna come?”

Ethan snaps his gaze back to Mark, who’s shrugging helplessly. “Can’t,” he says before Ethan can ask. “Gotta get to class. There’s a...test?” He looks confused, like he didn’t even know this until he said it. Somehow, that’s not the weirdest part of today.

Ethan nods. Suddenly, it feels like time is moving faster, and he’s got to go rehearse with his new acting buddies for a mysterious play that he never auditioned for. 

Ethan nods again, confused as to why he’s doing so, but that’s not _close_ to the weirdest thing. That’s fine. He gives Mark a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you tomorrow, babe?”

Mark nods. “Of course. See you tomorrow.”

\--

Ethan’s in bed by the time he realizes the entire rest of the day has slipped through his fingers. He’s _pretty_ sure he rehearsed with Mika and Nathan. He’s _pretty_ sure he met Mika’s girlfriend - Amy, was it? Why is that the one specific thing he can remember? It’s like her name is something he needed to know. What is Ethan _completely_ sure of? Nothing. 

Okay, there’s one thing. 

Whatever omnipotent being is manipulating the confusing life he’s stuck in the middle of, they’re starting to slip up.


End file.
